Broken Bridges
by NarusseRussandol
Summary: "Findekano had been the bridge between their houses. Now that he was gone, the houses of Feanaro and Nolofinwe were once again at odds, the bridges broken." Maedhros copes with Fingon's death after the Nirnaeth. Part of 'The Fire Within'. NO SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Broken Bridges**

**Summary: The consequences of Fingon's death were deeper than just losing the High King of the Noldor. Without him, the old strife returns anew to divide the Houses of Feanor and Fingolfin. A look at the first few months after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad through Maedhros' eyes. Part of ****_The Fire Within_**** storyline.**

**Main Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, Turgon, Fingon (posthumous)**

**Rating: T for character death. NO SEX, SLASH, OR PROFANITY.**

**DISCLAIMER: The Silmarillion, its characters, and lands are the property J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit.**

_**AUTHOUR'S NOTE: So, here's another one. Remember when I started 'The Fire Within' a while back? Well, I'm going to write that, but in separate stories, marking out main events and then blocking them in. This is one of them. **_

_**Many thanks to **_TulisseFindekano **_for the title and proofreading!_**

**_NAMES AND PHRASES GLOSSARY_**_I use quite a few Quenya names in this story. Here's the who's-who._

_Findekano = Fingon_

_Fin = Fingon, a nickname_

_Nelyo = Maedhros, shortened form of his ataresse_

_Maitimo = Maedhros, his amilesse_

_Makalaure = Maglor, his amilesse_

_Turukano = Turgon_

_Findarato = Finrod_

_Curufinwe = Curufin, his ataresse_

_Turkafinwe = Celegorm, his ataresse_

_Nolofinwe = Fingolfin_

_Feanaro = Feanor_

_And I may use some Quenya words as well. The list will get longer as the story progresses._

_fea = spirit, soul_

_hroa = body_

**_BROKEN BRIDGES_**

**Chapter One**

The smoke was rising still from the battlefield. As Maitimo knew it would continue to do for a while yet. Rain had begun to fall, and Maitimo could have laughed at the coincidence of it.

He would have, would it have been anything other than today. Less than a day after the greatest battle he'd ever known. And the worst one as well. So many had perished that day...

Maitimo bowed his head, a tortured expression on his face. It had been his plan, his strategy... and it had failed due to the treason of Ulfang's people. Had he been able to reach his cousin's host...

_Findekano..._ he thought, _Forgive me. I tried._

This was why he was riding over the battlefield, where Findekano's host had fought. This was why he was going, despite his broken arm and the arrow wound in his chest. He hadn't had them treated, but as soon as the remainder of his host had escaped and the battle had ended, he'd ridden out.

His teeth were clenched tightly against the pain he felt. But this pain was nothing compared to the empty hole in his heart right now. He dug his heels into his horse's sides, urging the animal forward across the battlefield.

_I have to find him... I cannot leave his _hroa_ out here to decay like a common Orc's._

Maitimo had been fighting harder than ever before when he'd seen a flash of white flame shoot upward. At the same time, he felt a piercing emptiness in his heart. And he'd known that Findekano was dead. During his hesitation at that moment, another searing pain had creased his chest, but this time from a black-feathered arrow.

Maitimo had known that the battle was lost. He ordered a retreat, and they'd fought their way out. During that fight, his shield had been shattered, along with his right arm. He hadn't even had that set yet, he realized, grimacing.

He'd paced all along the edge of camp for hours until the battle was ended, ignoring the pain of his wounds and his brothers' plea for him to have them treated. And then, as soon as he was sure it was safe, he'd mounted up again and ridden off.

Makalaure had watched him go, anxiously, and tried to convince him to wait a while. But Maitimo had ignored him, as he had ignored practically everything else since the battle.

And so he rode on, towards where he'd seen the flash that he knew had signaled his beloved cousin's death.

"Nelyo!" the cry came from behind him, and Maitimo pulled his horse to a halt. Makalaure was riding after him.

"I won't let you go off alone," he said, coming alongside his older brother.

Maitimo did not reply, not seeing how he could reply. He just started forward again. A part of him refused to believe that Findekano was actually dead. He wanted to hope that, somehow, he was still alive. After all, Maitimo himself had been, and held prisoner. Perhaps it was the same with Findekano. But then he knew that it was not so. When he looked up, he froze, jerking the reins to stop his mount again. He had not been the first one to search for Findekano's body.

Turukano was there already. The second son of Nolofinwe was kneeling on the ground, head bowed.

"No..." The word escaped Maitimo' lips, without him thinking.

Turukano lifted his head and turned to look at the two Feanorions, his eyes red and shining with tears. Upon seeing Maitimo, he rose to his feet, starting towards them.

"This is the last time, son of Feanor," he said, angrily, as Maitimo shakily dismounted. Turukano stood a few feet away. Maitimo had to glance upward a little to meet his eyes, and he remembered a time when Turukano barely came up to his knees. Those were happier times, before the strife, before anything had happened.

_And now Turukano is the only one left._

But the new High King of the Noldor was not finished yet.

"This is all your fault!" Turukano said, gesturing at the ruined battlefield. "It was you who devised this, Feanorion. And look at the consequences. You killed my brother! You are no less wicked than Curufinwe and Turkafinwe, for you've sent Findekano to his death just like they sent Findarato!"

Maitimo flinched at the utter hatred in his cousin's eyes. And yet he knew that this was his fault. It had been his idea to form the Union, to march on Angband. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly, putting his hand up to silence his brother as Makalaure prepared to jump to his defence.

Turukano looked away. "I shall never again march at the side of a Son of Feanaro," he said, before turning and leaving.

Maitimo watched him go before hesitantly walking over to where Turukano had been kneeling.

He also sank down to his knees, the reservoir of tears he'd been holding back breaking. The corpse was unrecognizable, but Maitimo knew it was Findekano's.

"Oh, Fin..." he muttered, lifting his cousin's broken _hroa_ into his arms, a choked sob tearing itself from his throat.

Findekano was dead. Dead. Never coming back.

And Maitimo wept.

_To Be Continued_


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's another chappie. It's longer than the last one. Actually, the first chapter could be read as a oneshot, but I'm adding onto it. _

_Thanks to all who followed, favorited, and reviewed! *gives chocolates*_

**_NAMES AND PHRASES GLOSSARY  
_**_I use quite a few Quenya names in this story. Here's the who's-who._

_Findekano = Fingon_

_Fin = Fingon, a nickname_

_Nelyafinwe = Maedhros, his ataresse_

_Nelyo = Maedhros, shortened form of his ataresse_

_Maitimo = Maedhros, his amilesse_

_Makalaure = Maglor, his amilesse_

_Turukano = Turgon_

_Findarato = Finrod_

_Curufinwe = Curufin, his ataresse_

_Turkafinwe = Celegorm, his ataresse_

_Nolofinwe = Fingolfin_

_Feanaro = Feanor, his amilesse_

_Itarille = Idril_

_Moringotto = Morgoth_

_And I may use some Quenya words as well. The list will get longer as the story progresses._

_fea = spirit, soul_

_hroa = body_

**_BROKEN BRIDGES_  
**

**Chapter Two**

Maitimo did not move for a long while. Makalaure stood behind him, waiting politely, but the rain was still falling, and he was shivering now, and he could see that his brother's lips had turned blue.

"Nelyo, please," he said quietly, at long last coming forward and resting his hand gently on his stricken brother's shoulder.

Maitimo ignored him. It had been hours now. At first he had wept shamelessly, but now he just stared blankly ahead. Makalaure sighed, sitting next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders, careful not to jar his broken right arm.

Tears sprang to Maitimo's eyes anew. He remembered Findekano doing just that many times. He was always careful, always gentle, whenever Maitimo was wounded. But this wasn't Findekano. Findekano was gone, his _fea_ in Mandos, and his _hroa_ lying broken in Maitimo's arms.

"Nelyo, come, it's not good for you to be out here," Makalaure gave his shoulder a gentle tug to try to prod him along.

Finally, Maitimo looked up, his eyes and nose red and his lips blue. He wasn't shivering, though he was certainly cold enough to.

What he said sent a stab of pain through Makalaure's heart.

"It's not good for Findekano to be out here either."

* * *

"Turukano?"

The last of the children of Nolofinwe did not even look up from his desk at Makalaure's voice. He seemed as if he hadn't even heard the Feanorion. He sat inside of his tent, the remainder of his company resting before they made the journey back. All of them had returned to their camps. All but Findekano's company. There were none left, not one.

Turukano was poring over a map, not entirely sure what he was doing. He just had to do something besides weep, which was what he had been doing for hours before Makalaure had arrived. He'd kept his tent flap closed, not leaving, not seeing anyone, not taking any food or drink. But now he tried to convince himself that he had to continue on with his life; it couldn't just stop. He was now High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, and he had Itarille back at Gondolin, waiting for him.

He sat now, staring at the map, marking the place where his last brother had fallen. A goblet of wine was set beside him on the desk, and he would occasionally take a sip from it.

Makalaure sighed, realizing that Turukano did not mean to answer him. "Turukano. We are burying Findekano now, and we were—"

He was cut off mid-sentence as Turukano shot to his feet, storming over to the tent entrance where Makalaure was standing.

"_You_ are burying my brother?" he asked, "No, I won't have it! I shall lay Findekano to rest in Gondolin. And your traitorous hands will not touch him."

He turned to trudge out of the tent, but Makalaure caught his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Enough, Turukano!" he cried, "Nelyo is already upset enough as it is without your going out to shout at him!"

Turukano's grey eyes flashed angrily. "I don't really care. Findekano was my brother, not his! And he killed him!" Turukano jerked away from his half-cousin's grasp. "You Feanorions never came to our aid. We saw your banners and heard your trumpets..."

"We were blocked from you by Moringotto's hordes!" Makalaure cried.

Turukano held up his hand to stop him. "Yes, and you retreated!" he cried, "You didn't try to fight through to us. If Nelyafinwe really loved Findekano, he wouldn't have given up so easily!"

"We could fight no longer, the battle was already lost!" Makalaure's voice was desperate, but he knew that there would be no reasoning with Turukano.

The taller Noldo gave Makalaure a final glare, shoving past and striding out of the tent, seething. He pulled his cloak around him, flicking the hood up over his head. It did not take long for him to find Maitimo; the shock of coppery hair was enough to alert him to the Feanorion's whereabouts. Maitimo was waiting near to the edge of the battlefield, waiting for Makalaure to return so they could perform the burial. Findekano's corpse lay still in his arms as he knelt, almost oblivious to Turukano's approach.

In fact, the first thing that he noticed was Turukano's fist colliding with his jaw.

Maitimo gasped and fell over under the force of the blow, and Turukano took Findekano's _hroa_ from him.

"I will not have my brother buried by one of the traitors," he spat out.

Maitimo pressed his hand against his aching jaw now. "I am not a traitor!" he cried, getting to his feet.

"You and your family left us in Aman, to the Helcaraxe. You killed Elenwe. And now, you've killed Findekano as well!" Turukano turned away, leaving. "Do not follow; I bury my brother alone."

Maitimo sank to his knees once more, weeping.

Findekano had been the bridge between their houses. Now that he was gone, the houses of Feanaro and Nolofinwe were once again at odds, the bridges broken.

Maitimo had been closer to Findekano than to some of his own brothers. Findekano had given him life again, after Thangorodrim. And now it felt as if a large part of him had died.

Maitimo stood. He mounted his horse, ignoring his split lip, and started off towards where he'd found Findekano's corpse.

Makalaure cantered up beside him not long after. "Nelyo? What happened?"

There was no reply. Maitimo had once again drawn into himself.

He halted at the place, and then dismounted. The rain was pounding down now, and the air was heavy with the smoke that couldn't rise. The visibility was terrible, and Maitimo almost had to grope to find what he was seeking.

Makalaure watched him as he knelt down, lifting Findekano's sword, cloven in two, from the mud. The once shining steel was dull and dirtied, coated in ash, blood, and dirt. Maitimo slipped it into his belt, and knelt again, this time lifting a tattered and charred piece of fabric, in blue and silver. Findekano's banner.

He rolled it up, and walked back to the horses, trying to mount, but stumbling, feeling woozy and lightheaded.

"Nelyo, are you alright?" Makalaure asked, seeing his unsteady gait.

Maitimo just nodded and hauled himself upwards. The world blurred around him, and he screwed his eyes shut with a groan as flashes of colour that shouldn't have been there appeared before his eyes.

Makalaure was on the ground in an instant, supporting his brother as Maitimo collapsed backwards, slipping in the mud.

The world began to spin around and Maitimo stumbled, sinking backwards into Makalaure's arms.

0o0o0o0o0

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Thank you, my patient readers. Life's been pretty hectic lately, what with finishing up school and preparing for the summer time, and my muse has been choosing to desert this story and lead me on random plot bunny trails *glares at Russandol* But, anyway, here's another chapter before I vanish again into the wild and dangerous world that is summer camp._

**_NAMES AND PHRASES GLOSSARY  
_**_I use quite a few Quenya names in this story. Here's the who's-who._

_Findekáno = Fingon_

_Fin = Fingon, a nickname_

_Nelyafinwe = Maedhros, his ataresse_

_Nelyo = Maedhros, shortened form of his ataresse_

_Maitimo = Maedhros, his amilesse_

_Makalaurë = Maglor, his amilesse_

_Turukáno = Turgon_

_Findarato = Finrod_

_Curufinwe = Curufin, his ataresse_

_Turkafinwe = Celegorm, his ataresse_

_Nolofinwe = Fingolfin_

_Fëanáro = Feanor, his amilesse_

_Itarille = Idril_

_Moringotto = Morgoth_

_And I may use some Quenya and Sindarin words as well. The list will get longer as the story progresses._

_fea = spirit, soul_

_hroa = body_

_le hannon = S. Thank you_

**Broken Bridges**

**Chapter Three**

"_Háno?" _Makalaurë's voice was worried as his brother fell, eyes rolling into the back of his head, tattered banner falling from his hand.

Makalaurë caught him and set him on the ground, touching his forehead. He jerked his hand back with a gasp. Maitimo's temperature was so high... Makalaurë tore a shred from his tunic and poured some cool water onto it, wiping off the blood and grime from Maitimo's face.

"Cursed arrow wound..." Makalaurë muttered, pulling Maitimo's tunic away from the wound in his chest. It was red and inflamed, and the edges of it had begun to turn black around the arrowhead, which was still in the wound. "I should've known it was going to be poisoned. I never should have let him come out here..."

He lifted Maitimo up with a little difficulty and set him on the back of his horse, making sure he wouldn't fall, and then mounted his own steed, taking the supple leather reins of Maitimo's bay in his hand and beginning to pick his way back across the battlefield. He slid the rolled up banner and the sword into his saddlebag, and then started off, occasionally glancing worriedly back at his brother. Maitimo's face was flushed bright red, and yet seemed pale at the same time.

When they were clear of most of the carnage, Makalaurë urged his horse into a canter, back to their camp.

The camp was a bustle of activity. Makalaurë looked around for a healer and realized, drily, that that was what the activity was—healers and healers' apprentices, rushing back and forth between the tents, tending to the wounded Eldar. None of the warriors had the energy or strength to do the bustling around. Even Makalaurë himself was exhausted, after fighting for days on end. He frowned. They'd lost so many... The camp had been so full before the battle... Now, it seemed that there were so few of them left, all in low spirits.

Makalaurë dismounted and took his brother from the horse's back and brought him into the healers' tent. "Lord Maedhros is wounded," he cried, "He was struck by a poisoned arrow."

One of the healers looked up from where he was splinting a patient's broken arm. "Take him to his tent, I will send one of the other healers as soon as possible," he said. "Bathe his forehead in water until then."

Makalaurë nodded and left, cradling his unconscious brother against him, supporting his weight with little difficulty as he took him to his tent. He set Maitimo down in the cot and took out his small dagger, cutting Maitimo's tunic from his body. Makalaure shivered a bit at the scars which marred Maitimo's skin—even now, even though he'd seen them countless times, he could still remember the first time he'd seen him after Thangorodrim, when the scars had been fresh and his ribs and hipbones had jutted out, and when his face had been gaunt, pale, and lifeless.

He still remembered that day when he'd first received the message, and how he'd practically thrown himself onto his horse and nearly swum across Lake Mithrim to get to the Nolofinwions' camp to see him. He remembered when he'd first come into the tent and seen Findekáno sitting next to Maitimo's bed, gently washing his fevered brow with a damp cloth, humming softly, patiently. Findekáno had sat on endless vigil besides his cousin. Whenever Makalaure came to see Maitimo, he was there, ever patient and watchful. His gentle hands had aided the healers as they'd dressed Maitimo's wounds, and held the wooden cup to Maitimo's lips so that he could drink.

Findekáno had shared a bond with his cousin that Makalaurë couldn't understand... it was as though their bond was stronger than life itself.

And now he was gone. Findekáno, who would have sat so patiently right now, assuring the unconscious Maitimo that all would be well, taking Makalaurë's place, or perhaps just sitting nearby, brow furrowed in concern, was gone.

A younger healer arrived soon, bringing a leather case of various herbs with him. Makalaurë sat aside as he examined the wound, taking Maitimo's vital signs and noting them down in a worn leather-bound journal, his bit of charcoal flicking over the page as he scribbled. He opened his pouch and took a few bottles out.

"Would you please give me a cup of water, my lord?" he asked Makalaurë.

The Fëanorion nodded and poured some water from a waterskin into a wooden cup. Maitimo shifted a bit, and muttered something in his sleep, and Makalaurë's heartbeat quickened, wondering if Maitimo was coming to. But there seemed no change, and he just settled back into his uneasy, restless sort of sleep.

Makalaurë took the cup over, and the healer slipped a few drops from some of the bottles into it.

"What are you giving him?" Makalaurë asked. He was once again launched back to those early days, when he'd constantly been aflutter, helplessly watching as the healers had administered tinctures and poultices, and wondering what each was for and how it was helping his brother.

"I'm mixing a tincture of Athelas, poppy, and chamomile into the water," The healer explained, "By the tightness in his brow you can tell he's restless and unhappy... His pulse is quick, and this will cause the poison to spread more quickly through his body." He held the cup to Maitimo's lips, and Makalaurë supported his head so that the mixture could slip down his throat. Makalaurë shifted anxiously until the effect began to take place and Maitimo relaxed a little. Then, the healer examined the wound more closely. "The poisoning doesn't seem to be too serious..." he said quietly, "A poultice on the wound should be enough." He started mixing up said poultice, but Makalaure's keen ears caught the underlying uncertainty in the healer's tone.

"What is it?" he asked, settling a hand on his shoulder. The healer turned to look at him.

"The poison is a less serious type, one that in most cases will not cause death, and almost certainly in someone of Lord Maedhros' type of constitution. But the fact that he has gone unconscious like this is a little worrying." He finished mixing the poultice and settled it over the wound, bandaging it. "It seems as though there is something more at work here than simply the poison, some sort of trauma... and if that is true, then his chance of recovery is dwindled a good bit. It all depends, as all healing does, on the fact that the invalid _wants_ to recover."

Makalaure nodded, and bit his lip. "What do I do now?" he asked.

"Keep bathing his forehead with a mixture of athelas extracted into water, and hope it brings the fever down... I really do not have much worry for his survival—In truth, I'm most confident he'll pull through."

Makalaure just nodded once more, and dipped his head briefly. "Thank you, Arathal," he said.

Arathal nodded also, and rose to his feet, then paused. "Here, take this—I have a little, and can make more." He poured a small flask into the small bowl of water Makalaurë was using to bathe Maitimo's forehead with. Makalaurë gave it a faint sniff and instantly recognized that it was extract of Athelas.

"_Le hannon," _he said, nodding, and Arathal gave a brief bow to his lord.

"I must take my leave now, my lord," Arathal told him, "There are many others who need my aid."

Makalaurë nodded. "_Mai,_ Arathal," he said, "I will notify you of any change in Lord Maedhros' condition."

Arathal left, and Makalaurë began bathing Maitimo's forehead again. But a sliver of worry crept into his mind.

_It all depends, as all healing does, on the fact that the invalid _wants_ to recover._

Arathal's words echoed in Makalaurë's mind. He knew this was true, simply from past experience with his brother. And Maitimo knew what had happened to Findekáno. The two of them shared a bond stronger than life. And Makalaurë wondered if that bond would drive Maitimo to follow his cousin and best friend to Mandos with him.

o0o0o0o

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, I miraculously finished another chapter, but don't get spoiled. Besides, I'm not entirely sure this is a good thing... this may very well be my last chapter until after camp... and it's- how shall we put it?- let's just say it's quite painful._

**_NAMES AND PHRASES GLOSSARY  
_**_I use quite a few Quenya names in this story. Here's the who's-who._

_Findekáno = Fingon_

_Fin = Fingon, a nickname_

_Nelyafinwë = Maedhros, his ataressë_

_Nelyo = Maedhros, shortened form of his ataressë_

_Maitimo = Maedhros, his amilessë_

_Makalaurë = Maglor, his amilessë_

_Turukáno = Turgon_

_Findaráto = Finrod_

_Curufinwë = Curufin, his ataressë_

_Turkafinwë = Celegorm, his ataressë_

_Nolofinwë = Fingolfin_

_Fëanáro = Fëanor, his amilessë_

_Itarillë = Idril_

_Moringotto = Morgoth_

_And I may use some Quenya and Sindarin words as well. The list will get longer as the story progresses._

_fëa = spirit, soul_

_hróa = body_

_le hannon = S. Thank you_

**_BROKEN BRIDGES_**

**_CHAPTER FOUR_**

_"__Russandol! Stop!" _

_Findekáno was laughing as his cousin pinned him down on his back, relentlessly tickling him. _

_"__Oh yeah?" Maitimo asked, grinning fiendishly, "And who's going to make me?"_

_Findekáno kept struggling, laughing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry I stuffed the grass down your tunic stop it please Russ!"_

_Maitimo looked thoughtful, giving Findekáno a brief respite. Then, that fell light came into his eyes again and he grinned. "Nope."_

Maitimo's mind was whirling, a thousand memories at a time spinning across his mental vision, in between flashes of light, distorted, colored light that hurt his eyes. He tossed a little, groaning. His head was pounding... he could hear muffled voices in the background. Quickly, though, he slipped back into the memories.

_"__No Atar!" He saw himself, gripping his father's shoulder. Fëanáro held a torch in his hand, a fey look gleaming in his eyes, reflecting the flame from the torch... or was it reflecting the flame inside of him? _

_Maitimo's struggles to persuade his family to send the ships back, not to burn them, were in vain, though. At last, knowing he could to no more, he turned and ran to the top of a hill. Almost instantly he was engulfed in freezing wind, pelted by snow. He found himself looking at Findekáno, dressed in furs and various other warm clothes, staring off towards where a faint glow could be seen, the glow of distant flames. Maitimo swallowed, watching as Findekáno turned away. He saw tears running down his cousin's cheeks, freezing as they did so. _

_Then his memories shifted again. To pain... darkness... Fire, racing down his back, throughout his whole body. He heard that voice again, taunting him. _His_ voice. _

_"__You betrayed them... You did it."_

_"__No!" Maitimo cried, "I refused!"_

_"__You stood aside as your family burned the ships. You didn't stop them. You're a coward."_

_Maitimo struggled, blinking as the Dark Vala's eyes bore into his, lips curling into a snarl. Against his will his hearbeat quickened. _

_"__You are worse than your father... coward..."Moringotto growled, his voice seeming to penetrate into Maitimo's very _fëa._ Maitimo gave a cry and tried to struggle. He did struggle. And then everything dissolved into blackness._

Even as he came back to semi-consciousness, he still could hear Moringotto's voice. He thrashed wildly... he was burning, burning alive. Then he felt a cool touch on his forehead, a gentle, soothing touch that took the burning from wherever it touched.

_Fin... _He didn't know if the name was thought or just moaned in his fever. _Don't stop... burns... burns... _This was the sensation he'd felt after Thangorodrim... he wondered if he was still lying in bed on the shores of Lake Mithrim, feverish and ill, and if everything that had happened since then was just a dream.

He needed that touch, that gentle coolness, or else he'd be driven mad.

Moringotto's voice still echoed through his mind, blaming him for everything that happened. But as time went on, the voice blurred, and Maitimo could no longer tell if it was Moringotto's, his own, or Findekáno's. He tossed his head again, trying to clear it.

The cooling touch came back, and he gave a slight moan, turning his head away. He craved the touch, but despised it... he didn't deserve it, he deserved to burn.

The touch laid across his forehead once more, and Maitimo blinked his eyes. The flashes of distorted light came back and he closed them again tightly. Had he? Had he killed Findekáno, as the voices in his mind told him? They came back, swirling around him, making his head hurt. He tried screaming, telling them to go away. But it seemed as though no sound came out, as though his screams were drowned out in the sea of accusing voices. The voices of all those who had died in that battle, and above them all Findekáno's voice, and in the background Moringotto's dark, horrible, terrible voice, laughing, mocking him.

_Kinslayer... you led them to their deaths..._

_Tears unnumbered shall you shed... _This was Námos' booming voice that Maitimo could hear now, just as clearly as though he was pronouncing their doom over again.

_To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well... _

Maitimo cried out, his cries echoing through his ears, hurting them, bouncing off the walls of the pit he seemed to be in, echoing back and reverberating ten times louder. He couldn't take this anymore... He couldn't take it, it was too much.

In his fevered state, Maitimo was completely unaware of Makalaurë, sitting next to him, trying to calm him by speaking softly, by singing, by anything that he could possibly do. His voice reached through the fevered haze, but only was distorted to enhance the fell, horrible sounds that Maitimo could hear.

Makalaurë was at his wit's end, and had called Arathal, who had tried refreshing the poultices to ease the fever, and attempted to give Maitimo another draught of the athelas-chamomile mixture, but Maitimo was too delirious, his head tossing away from the cup that they held to his lips, refusing to drink it.

"Please, Nelyo," Makalaurë murmured, "We only want to help you. Please don't fight."

But his words fell on deaf ears, or at least, ears dulled by the fury of Maitimo's hallucinations. Desperate, Makalaurë tried once again to bathe the sweat and fever away from Maitimo's body, praying to the Powers that he should be given the strength to overcome this fever.

Then, a miserable look came over Makalaurë's face. As if the Valar would aid them now... they'd shown just how much they desired to aid the Noldor in their plight by the outcome of the battle itself.

Makalaurë squared his jaw. If the Valar would not aid his brother, he would have to do so. More resolutely, he began to set himself to the task before him. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and let his head bow.

_As you cannot be here for him now, Findekáno, I shall do what I can in your stead._

_0o0o0o0_

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Here's one last update for you... or maybe there'll be another one but I'm not entirely certain... I've gotten inspiration for this now though so yay me. Anyways, here's another chapter. It may hurt._

**DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Tolkien, and the general idea of the plot as well. All suing for mental injuries is to be directed to Tolkien Estates, not to me. Not my fault.**

**_NAMES AND PHRASES GLOSSARY  
Names_**

_Findekáno = Fingon_

_Fin = Fingon, a nickname_

_Nelyafinwë = Maedhros, his ataressë_

_Nelyo = Maedhros, shortened form of his ataressë_

_Maitimo = Maedhros, his amilessë_

_Makalaurë = Maglor, his amilessë_

_Turukáno = Turgon_

_Findaráto = Finrod_

_Curufinwë = Curufin, his ataressë_

_Turkafinwë = Celegorm, his ataressë_

_Nolofinwë = Fingolfin_

_Fëanáro = Fëanor, his amilessë_

_Itarillë = Idril_

_Moringotto = Morgoth_

**_Quenya and Sindarin phrases_**

_fëa = spirit, soul_

_hróa = body_

_mai= yes, good_

_háno= brother_

_aurë entulúva= day shall come again_

_le hannon = S. Thank you_

**_BROKEN BRIDGES_**

**_Chapter Five_**

It was a good while before Maitimo truly awoke, pulling out of his dark, feverish visions. For a while, it seemed as though he were airborne, unaware of where he was, what was happening, why he was lying on his back. Everything looked white when he first opened his eyes. He didn't even know who he was.

Then, gradually, he started remembering. The battle, the betrayal, the white flame...

Then it hit him, with the full force of Moringotto's warhammer.

_Fin is gone._

The voice seemed whispered in his mind, and it was as though he was realizing it for the first time.

The whiteness faded. He was lying in a cot inside a spacious tent. There was something damp on his forehead, and the room smelled of herbs, particularly _Athelas._ It still took a few moments for him to recognize that this was his tent, the one he'd slept in the night before the battle.

It seemed ages ago that the battle happened, and yet the aching still in Maitimo's bones told him it must not have been yet a few days since that terrible day. Maitimo's eyes slipped closed again. It was a mistake. As soon as they did, he was plunged back into that world of pain, blood, swords, and grief that had spun about him for days on end. Once again, he heard that faint cry of "_Aurë entulúva!" _and saw seconds later a white flame shooting up into the sky.

He forced his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

"Fin is gone."

This time, he said it aloud. There was a sharp intake of breath from beside him. A hand brushed his forehead, removing the damp cloth.

"Fever's broken," Maitimo heard Makalaurë's voice say in relief.

Slowly, the copper-haired Fëanorion turned towards him. Maitimo's gaze was still a little clouded over, though this time it was from tears and not poisoned haze. Maitimo, however, did not know this until Makalaurë brushed those tears from his cheeks.

Grief and pain coursed through Maitimo's mind. Makalaurë's eyes were concerned, and he looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't.

"Tears unnumbered..." Maitimo finally whispered hoarsely, not quite knowing what he was saying, "Tears unnumbered shall you shed..."

Makalaurë flinched a bit, lip quirking the slight bit, backing up.

Maitimo had no idea why his brother was acting this way. He turned back to staring at the ceiling.

"Fin is gone. Fin is gone..." he murmured. Some part of his mind, some foolish part, wanted not to believe this, wanted to think that Findekáno was alive somewhere. Maitimo's face twitched. He was irritated at himself for trying to give himself false him. "He's gone, he's gone, he's not coming back," he kept talking to himself as Makalaurë sat quietly beside him, not knowing entirely why Maitimo was acting this way, and not knowing at all what to do.

Finally, Maitimo sat up abruptly, fire blazing in his eyes. "HE'S DEAD!"

The fire died, replaced by blank grief, and Maitimo lay back down, sobbing quietly.

Makalaurë rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Nelyo," he said, in a half whisper. Maitimo rolled over so that his back was turned towards his brother.

"No, Káno, it's not alright. None of it is alright," he sobbed, "Fin is dead, and it's my fault."

"Don't say that!" Makalaurë admonished him. He hated this more than anything else Maitimo would do. He hated when Maitimo blamed himself for things like this...

"Why not?" came the muffled reply a moment later.

"It was not your fault, Nelyo. You had no idea what would happen... The battle would have been won and none of this would have happened were it not for betrayal and underhandedness," Makalaurë gripped his shoulder more tightly. He felt anxious—when Maitimo was in one of these moods, it was extremely difficult to get him out of it.

To his entreaty, though, his elder brother gave no reply. Makalaurë waited for a few minutes, but by then it was clear that Maitimo was finished talking.

A heavy sigh escaped Makalaurë's lips. He knew that nothing he could say would help his brother now, and he hated feeling so utterly helpless, but, what could he, in truth, do?

Maitimo's eyes flickered closed—he was still exhausted from fighting the poison—and he drew his legs up against his body. Makalaurë's heart clenched in pain and sympathy as he watched him. The only time he'd seen Maitimo so... lost, or miserable perhaps, was when he'd visited after Thangorodrim, when Maitimo seemed to have lost his will to live. Now, he seemed much the same way.

Maitimo's closed eyes still wept, his lightly freckled cheeks becoming stained with his tears. Makalaurë wiped them away again, and as Maitimo's breathing evened out a little, he took the edge of the cotton sheet and pulled it up over his brother's shoulders. Tears were running down Makalaurë's cheeks as well. Maitimo was such a pillar to him, an unwavering, strong, unbreakable figure in his life. Now that he seemed to be collapsing, Makalaurë felt helpless.

Arathal came into the tent. "I heard that his fever had broken and that he'd regained consciousness..." the young healer stated, in a bit of confusion.

Makalaurë looked at him, and nodded. "_Mai_, Arathal, both things are true... he's exhausted though and is sleeping now..."

Arathal relaxed a bit. "Good... how is he, then?"

Makalaurë gave a heavy sigh. "Physically, his body seems to have completely fought off the poison... but he's... very depressed," his voice was quiet now. "His friendship with our cousin Findekáno was like nothing I've ever seen before... and now I'm not certain what will happen to him..."

Arathal was quiet. He didn't know his lords very well, and knew little of that friendship, though, of course, he knew of it—almost everyone did. But from the way Makalaurë spoke of it, it seemed more than just a simple friendship, like an unbreakable bond forged between the two of them. He quietly slipped from the tent, knowing that it would be best now to leave the brothers together.

Once they were alone, Makalaurë sighed again, brushing a few of Maitimo's copper curls out of his face.

"I only hope he can find the light again... Findekáno's dying words were _'Aurë entulúva'. _'Day shall come again.' I can't help but think that a part of Findekáno meant those words for Nelyo."

0o0o0o0

_To Be Continued..._


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